


A Father's Gift

by oblongpill



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Family, Family Bonding, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 10:24:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11942139
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oblongpill/pseuds/oblongpill
Summary: Scout misses home and Spy is the closest thing he has to that now. (some much needed father-son bonding moment between them)





	A Father's Gift

**Author's Note:**

> ok i love dad!spy and son!scout a lot so i made a fic about an interaction they have one night! heads up: in this fic, its like almost a year after comic #7’s events and at this point, scout knows without question that spy is his dad.

In the line of work that involves hunting down and assassinating men while simultaneously being hunted down as a target for assassination, being a deep sleeper would not seem very beneficial. That is not to say that the Spy never slept soundly and securely, but dreams were often a rarity. Due to his constantly attentive nature, it was no surprise that he woke up immediately and somewhat startled – though he would never admit to that – at the slightest noise right outside his bedroom.

Groggy from working on overdue paperwork and stressed from RED’s streak of losses this week, he’d hoped to cash in on some much needed sleep, especially since the Medic advised him to stop burning the candle at both ends for health reasons. The Spy always thought it ironic how the good doctor never took his own advice, though. Regardless, the thought of the approaching weekend at least brought enough incentive for Spy to finally get some rest and even allow himself to sleep in tomorrow – or rather, as he looked at the clock on his nightstand that read 3:06 AM – today.

His plan for a night of sleep without interruption was ruined and there would be hell to pay. He groaned as the noise outside his room continued. It was a deliberate, albeit timid, knocking, followed by the clearing of one’s throat. This had better be good.

Spy tossed his sheets over and stood from his queen size bed, because of course no size less could satisfy the spitting image of high maintenance and aristocracy of a man. He reluctantly donned his balaclava after finding it in the drawer of his nightstand, figuring that if someone was crazy enough to wake him up at this ungodly hour of the night, it must have been an emergency that would take a while to sort out. Most people knew he would rather be caught dead than work bare-faced. At this point, it was more of a mandatory uniform than an identity protector to him. Despite this, he ignored the need to get fully dressed, opting to stay topless and in his burgundy silk pajama pants until he knew the entirety of the situation.

Turning on his light and opening his door, he expected to see the Medic or the Engineer or any other one of the mercs known for staying up late to complete their work. He didn’t expect to see…well, this.

Standing in front of him was Scout, halfway turned around as though to walk away, back to be engulfed by the blackness of the hallway behind him. His hair was a mess and he had on the red tank top and plain boxer shorts he wore to sleep, as well as his regular baseball socks. Hanging from his shoulder was a duffle bag and hanging from his eyes were dark circles and bags even worse than Spy’s. Along with that tired expression was a surprised one, indicating that he’d not expected the other man to open the door, which would explain why he was ready to leave back to his own room on the base.

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” asked Spy. There was slight venom in his tone, though only as much as his sleep deprivation would allow.

“I know. I’m sorry,” was the only whispered response Scout gave before scratching his head in embarrassment and proceeding to head back to his room. This was, to say the least, extremely uncharactersistic of the man. First a shy knock, now a quiet apology? If anything, it had the Spy curious.

“Wait, Scout come back,” Spy said with a sigh as he grabbed Scout by the arm. The Frenchman’s voice was raspy with his accent smooth and thick like molasses in the wee hours of the morning. It felt strangely comforting to hear. “Tell me what you want, just make it quick.”

Before Scout could explain the purpose of his visit, like his father, his own curiosity got the best of him. “I figured you like to keep that mask on most of the time but do you really wear it to sleep?” An annoyed sigh escaped the man in front of him, signaling the stupidity of the question. “Nevermind, I came – I came here to – You see, I, um, wanted to, uh… I wanted to…” Whether the stuttering was caused by embarrassment or lack of rest, he didn’t know, although he thought it likely to be a combination of the two.

With frustration turning to pity and exhaustion, Spy took off his mask. At this point, it was not a surprise what Spy looked like under his balaclava. Working with the same group of people for nearly ten years meant an eventual face reveal at some point or another. Despite this, it always felt strange when one of the mercs witnessed what was underneath, which was a handsome rogue with salt and pepper hair that seemed to share a likeness to fine wine in the sense that age merely made him all the more exquisite. For Scout, it made him feel a mixture of admiration, jealousy, and hopefulness for his own future in the off chance that he would garner the same results. But most importantly, it made him feel at ease. And so he spoke up.

“I haven’t been sleeping too well lately.” It seemed nobody had. “I kept having these real bad dreams. I’ve been waking up shaking in cold sweats. I haven’t done this in a while since I don’t live at home anymore, but whenever it got this bad, I’d hang out in Ma’s room for the night, and she’d kinda just let me sleep in her bed.” Then he gestured toward his duffle bag awkwardly. “I ain’t saying you gotta let me sleep in your bed or nothing, I’m a grown man and all. That’s why I brought my own stuff so I could sleep on the floor if you want. But I was wondering if maybe you’d let me hang out in here for the night, too? Just until I can sleep without getting those nightmares?” There was a hint of shamefulness and defeat in his tone. In his eyes, it wasn’t exactly the manliest thing to wake up missing his mom because he had a few nightmares, only to go to the next best thing, which would of course be his dad conveniently down the hall.

It had taken weeks before the Scout stopped denying the unchangeable fact that his father was the man he was pleading to right now. When he found out, he refused to talk to him for that amount of time. Now, nearly a year since then, he’d come in a vulnerable state asking Spy to perform a parent’s task for once. In spite of the fact that Spy would much rather have slept in privacy that night, a tinge of guilt manifested when he looked upon his son’s much darker undereyes. He must have been suffering from these sleepless nights for days beyond Spy’s own nights. Thinking back on it, Scout’s constant fatigue must have played a key role in their team’s underperformance and subsequent bad luck this week. Really, saying no to the poor kid would not have been helpful to anyone on the base if it meant more losses. That, and the quick mention of his mother gave the Spy yet another feeling of obligation to his son.

He moved aside from the doorway and motioned his head to invite Scout inside, placing his mask back in the nightstand drawer. “Don’t touch anything in my room or you may find your sleeping problem permanently fixed,” he threatened, although his statement held little meaning to execute behind it.

Scout nodded gratefully and entered, dropping his duffle bag next to Spy’s bed and hastily unzipping it to retrieve the supplies inside. He made a mental note to ask Spy how he got administration to let him get such a big bed compared to everyone else’s in the morning. As he pulled out a pillow from his bag, which was tucked underneath his folded clothes and toothbrush for the next day, a hand placed itself on his shoulder. He looked up and was met with a gaze almost as homesick as his own. It was empathetic, and he nearly questioned whether or not it should be trusted given its owner’s history in trickory and deception.

“Jeremy,” Spy said, surprising even himself at the casualness of using his real name, “your mother would have my head if she found out I let you sleep on the floor.” That statement was met with light chuckling from both men, fully aware of the woman they both loved dearly’s overwhelming concern for her children. Even though she and the Spy no longer had strong romantic ties, mostly due to work, there was an open relationship type of kindred between them, still full of love and companionship whenever the two could meet. It took Scout even longer to be fine with this than it took for him to recognize his father. But for now, all was said and done, and the only thing in this room was the warmth of a part of a family.

Scout left his pillow and duffle bag on the floor to pick up in the morning. He climbed up onto one side of the bed, having more space than he knew what to do with. Spy turned off the light in the room and accompanied the other. Both faced each other, not being able to see one another in the darkness, but they could feel their stares. A hand rustled in the sheets and found its way to Scout’s arm, stroking it gently with cold, nimble fingers. It felt like home. Then that hand made its way up to his face, running its thumb against his cheek softly.

“You look just like her, you know,” the thickly accented voice said. “Same round face, same nose.” He stated this almost as though this were a whimsical discovery, finding a new borrowed feature on his face every second.

“It’s a good thing I have Ma’s nose,” Scout replied. “I’d hate to walk around with your honker every day. I’d be afraid to knock people over when I turned around too quick.” He was the only one giggling at his clever little insult.

“Fais attention à ce que tu dis.* I can knock you down to the ground with this ‘honker’ of mine and let you sleep on the cold floor.”

“No, please, anything but that!” Scout pleaded jokingly, still giggling. “If it makes you feel any better, I didn’t get everything from Ma.”

He was right. Regardless of all his mother’s dominant traits, one particular set of eyes did not match hers. Hers were also blue, but too deep like an ocean. His were greyer, the most convincing evidence of his father’s influence at all. For all he did to cover his tracks before leaving a scene, Spy never managed to escape that color. On him, it looked icy cold and calculating, like an unforgiving, neverending tundra. On his son, the very same color he inherited gave the impression of a cheery snowy field day that children would pray for to avoid school. Their differences in their similarities were an enigma all on their own.  
And even with this, the two found common ground now, chuckling themselves to a sleepy state while a quick goodnight kiss was planted onto Scout’s forehead. It didn’t quite make up for all the years that lacked kisses, but it was the start of a father’s gift nonetheless. This unison almost never occurred, but it seemed that sheer luck and tiredness aligned perfectly for both of them tonight.

“Bonne nuit mon fils.**”

“'Night, Pops.”

Dreams were often a rarity, but tonight, dreams found the two almost as easily as they had found hints of forgotten familial love upon that bed.

**Author's Note:**

> *“Be careful what you say.”
> 
> **“Goodnight my son.”
> 
> my tumblr is hyloft.tumblr.com btw, in case u wanna see some more tf2 content!


End file.
